My first lectern,
I had thought it too presumptuous
Until now that is,
When we moved from the shteibl to the new shul across the street
And the announcement for those who wished
A small medium or large standing lectern,
Something inside me agreed,
And a month later,
In my new place,
There it was,
unexpected
Mahogany-cherry
New
Dignified
Erect
Beautiful.
Since then
Something has changed in me
I want to go to shul
I need to be there
For my lectern/shthender
I cannot let it down
I cannot shame it.
It is making demands on me!
What anthropomorphism!
Yet there you have it
I awaken Shabbat early for it beckons me
I arrive in shul
And feel its surface
Placing my seforim on it and in it
For it has a secret vault
Where I keep my “stuff”
(Even a book of Leonard Cohen poems!)
My “quota” of learning for the day
And even a miniature scotch (for emergencies only!)
Only single malt will do for this quality shtender!
As a child we sat in pews
London in the 60’s
Made by kibbutz Lavi
Finchley Central Synagogue
The very notion of an individual shtender
Was so foreign
Untouched by the “yeshivishe velt”
Where from the Lithuanian Yeshivot (especially Slbodka)
Each Talmid becomes his own unique Torah personality
So each receives a shtender.
This leakage into the everyday world of shuls
And community study Batei Midrashim
Is late:
After the Fruchthandler/Reichmann revolution
That transformed American Jewry
From modern orthodox
Into a neo-charedi Artscroll world
Where every Tom Dick or Moishe
Now studies in a community kolel
The daf yomi
Using his own shtender.
Having watched Rabbi Soloveitchik
In his decline
I lived in a world of mourning
For what might have been
Had he had a successor
To continue balanced centrist orthodoxy
Which is of course now ridiculed
As “lukewarm”, embracing modernity and secularism
As a tool for spirituality.
So I too resisted the trappings of yeshivishe
Externalities.
As if it was a betrayal of what I held dear and true.
That was until now.
This shtender
Its dark grained wood
Beckons me
To stand or sit by it
Like the Giving Tree
(was it taken from it?)
Shel Silverstein’s iconic work
That makes me cry each time
I read it to my grandchildren,
It gives me much more than I could ever wish.
It stands in a place in the spiritual geographic landscape
Of the shul.
Two rows behind the Bima
Where it has a commanding view of all that takes place
Both in the service, and afterwards,
And in site of any newcomers or strays that wonder in to daven.
When we all moved across the street from the intimacy of the shteibl
We were slightly disoriented by the immensity of this sacred space.
Where to sit?
To establish one’s identity and relationship to the geographical
Is no easy task.
Does one choose to sit near older friends
Far from holier than thou congregants
Or begin afresh?
I allowed my body to move me
And initially I went to the same location as in the shteibl
But then something moved me backwards
And centered behind the bima
And there I rested
Until now
When the shtender arrived unexpectedly
In the very place I had designated
With my name on it.
As if it validated the choice of location
Between the sacred the open.
It’s as if this is my place
My spiritual location
Among other worshippers
My station in life
My location in spiritual space
In relation to the Rebbe
And the Bima
And the Schechina.
And it has grabbed me
Emotionally
Irrationally
For the first time in my life
I feel obligated
Not to let it down
To show up
To be present
For its sake
As if it represents a stake in a homestead
Out there in the far west
And I a pioneer
I must claim it
Daily.
I remember my father loving the “box”
That enclosed seating for the lay leaders
Of his synagogue in Finchley
Not because of its power or prestige
But I now believe because it had some power over him too
It was a place structured and designated
Where people
Would, on arrival, look to the box,
To see if “Willy had arrived”
It was his place beyond a mere pew.
And as I age
This shtender will hold my arms as I sway
And lean on it
As I attempt
To connect to the divine
In an age old service
That resists change
But must be infused with vitality.
And as I bend in slowly progressive loss of spinal
Stature
Maybe it will support me
In the crustification
And decaying spirit
As I face the inevitable
And the failures of my spiritual life.
